Every Inhale Brings Life (Then Comes Death
by Little Miss Slytherclaw
Summary: The Quintessence Field is connected to all realities, and as Lotor sits there, overwhelmed by the pure life force, he begins to experience these realities as well. When he begs, he's not sure if it's to relive a life, or for the entire thing to be over. Multichap, but each chapter could stand alone if need be. Feel free to request a reality!
1. The Beginning of the End

**Sup. I'm here with _another_ collection. Well... this one is a multichap I guess, but they kinda can be read as stand alones? It's all Lotor, towards the end of season 6. You know how the Quintessence Field is connected to all realities? Well, this fic is based off of the idea that when Lotor is dying in the Quintessence Field, his conscience is going and living out those other realities. Each update will be a new reality (sans this one. This beginning one is just Lotor in the Quintessence Field). Feel free to request a reality! **

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**I've used prompts in this... all from the Hogwarts (where I'm a Snek) Writing Club. They are listed below the fic.**

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**Warnings: Depression. Sad thoughts and stuff. Pain.**

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**Word Count (Excluding A/N): 501**

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**The Beginning of the End**

It was too much for him, even Lotor understood that much. The Quintessence burned, and he wasn't even in direct contact with it—yet he craved more. He craved more, and he couldn't understand why. There was too much power coursing through his veins, and his mind felt overwhelmed by it. It hurt. He begged for it to stop, for his body to be free of the agony.

He screamed.

He cried.

He pleaded.

To his mother, however corrupted she had become. Despite everything, she was still his mother. Dishonorable Honerva, descendent of the Alteans. Once beautiful, once pure. He pleaded for her to rescue him from the torture—the torture that was so unlike anything he had felt before.

To his father, however cruel he had been. He was his father; even when he knew it was wrong, Lotor looked up to him. Zarkon, fallen emperor of the Galra. Once occupant of Daibazaal, once strong, once good. Once Paladin of the Black Lion, the leader of Voltron. He pleaded for his father to rescue him from the excruciating torment that had befallen him.

To Voltron, however much they hated him. They had battled, and Lotor regretted it with every ounce of his wretched being. Shiro, Lance, Pidge, Hunk, and even Keith. He had trusted them, worked with them even, and recognized that it was his doing that led to his own destruction, not theirs. He pleaded for them to take pity on him and rescue him from the damnation he had put upon himself.

To Allura, however much he deserved her abhorrence. Princess of the Alteans, honorable Paladin. He loved her, and the fact that he hurt her burned almost as much as the Quintessence did. He pleaded for her beauty, inwards and outwards, to lighten the pain. He pleaded for her mercy to extend a hand. He pleaded for her purity to save him.

To Axca, however much he did not deserve her devotion. Beautiful and determined, Galran half-breed, yet so much more. She was the first to truly try and understand him, and he depended on her in ways he could not explain. He pleaded for her resolve to see him through his trials.

To his other generals, Ezor, Zethrid, and even Narti, however doubtful they were of him. He pleaded for their strength to guide him home, for their wisdom to keep him sane.

He pleaded.

He cried.

He screamed in an unending cycle of constant torment, desperate to save himself, desperate to control the Quintessence. Desperate to be more than just Lotor of Daibazaal, falling emperor of the Galra. Desperate to fulfill the destiny he believed that he had owned.

Desperate to give up.

After what felt like an eternity struggling with the Quintessence and every conflicting inner feeling he possessed, Lotor finally gave in to the stream of pure life-force. He could feel it tugging at him from every reality, coercing him to become one with each version of himself.

And he could feel his consciousness slipping—

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**A/N 2.0: Prompts**

**\- Disney Challenge Theme #3 Damsel In Distress - Write about someone determined to save themselves.**

**\- Film Festival Theme #1 Plot: Write about someone from another planet - [5 bonus]**


	2. Dainty Fingers Bring Heavy Mistakes

**I'm back! With the first alternate reality! ****This was very fun to write. I won't lie.**

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**As always, feel free to leave requests in either the review or as a PM. I love receiving requests.**

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**I used prompts from the Hogwarts (where I'm a snek). They are listed below.**

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**Warnings: Depression, pain. Pretty much the same as the opener to this multichap**

**Word Count (Excluding A/N): 1966**

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**Dainty Fingers Bring Heavy-Handed Mistakes**

"Lenora! Lenora! are you okay? What's wrong?"

Lotor's eyes flew open and he let out a desperate gasp, the pain of fresh air slicing through his lungs. He was dying, wasn't he? In the Quintessence field. He was supposed to be dying—he had readied his mind, let his conscience slip and his body relax. He had given in to the pain and the despair, and he had let his desperate need for power dissipate because what is power when you no longer have a body to wield it?

So why did he feel so alive?

Maybe he wasn't. He felt too light, too unbalanced. Maybe he was just hallucinating, imagining the concerned voice that had been calling out to him.

"Lenora. Snap out of this."

The voice was new, not the first one who had spoken. It was commanding, and with it came large hands gripping his shoulders, fingers digging in to his unarmored flesh.

Unarmored? That didn't seem right. He was rarely unarmored.

His heavy eyes landed on the blurry face in front of him, and he struggled to focus. Soon grey eyes, a scarred nose, and a tuft of white hair came into view.

"Shiro," he breathed in relief, though his voice seemed to come out in a squeek. He coughed to clear it before trying again. "Shiro, I'm so sorry."

Confusion clouded in Shiro's eyes as he helped Lotor into a seated position. From over Shiro's shoulder, Lotor could see Allura's worried features—the last time he had seen her, her face had been twisted in rage. How could she look so worried now?

A sharp pain shot behind Lotor's eyes, and he closed them out of instinct.

"Lenora…" Lenora? That wasn't… "You've just fallen. I'm worried you might have a concussion," Shiro said gently, though his grip didn't lessen on his shoulders. "Can you tell me where we are?"

"My ship," Lotor answered, but the words weren't his, "my home. We are… we are in the engineering room."

Relief filtered through Shiro's eyes, and he let go of Lotor's shoulders at last, though he kept his hands raised as if to catch Lotor if he wavered. He then turned his head to face Allura. "She should be fine, but maybe you both should take the rest of the day off. Let her rest."

She?… Her?...

Lotor, the speed of his breathing increasing, looked down at his hands—too delicate to be a man's. Manicured nails, dainty fingers, thin wrists. His eyes traveled past his hands to the legs curled beneath him. He was wearing simple, under-uniform leggings that couldn't hide the shapely curve of his thighs, nor the soft taper of his ankles from his calf to small, fitted boots.

His shoulders heaved, lungs constricting and heart pounding. He clutched at himself in a panic, tugging at the neck of his shirt, his forearms pressing against his chest, a chest which certainly didn't belong to a man.

This wasn't right. This must be the Quintessence seeping into his mind and corrupting it. He could no longer trust what he knew.

Frightened eyes lifted to Shiro's concern before all sight disappeared and was replaced by memories.

Memories of the body Lotor was now inhabiting.

…

When Lotor woke up, he felt the overwhelming urge to cry.

Or, more, he woke up and started crying. They were silent tears, but they felt like a tsunami, tearing at his cheeks and burning his skin. He gasped for air, pushing himself into a seated position.

He had been moved to his chambers, which were decorated very closely to how they had been decorated back in his reality. The only difference was the small bit of lace that trimmed the cloth around his windows and bed, and the formal dress that hung on the side of his wardrobe, where his formal robes used to reside.

It was disjointing.

After a few minutes, he finally caught his breath and pushed his legs over the side of his bed. Standing up in the foreign body was weird, he felt disproportionate and far too light, though his chest was annoyingly heavy. Lotor had never quite understood the appeal of female breasts, it made designing armor much more tedious, but now that he had to deal with them… he liked them even less.

It seemed as if Lenora had a life much like Lotor's—really, the only difference Lotor could discern was that Lenora was female. She had still grown up under Dayak; she had been banished after trying to work with people Zarkan had deemed beneath her; she had still spent ten thousand years learning everything she could about her past; she adopted Axca, Zethrid, Ezor, and Narti as her generals; she had still saved the Altean's, and she had still used them to harness their quintessence to further her research; she had still managed to get Voltron to trust her; she had still fallen in love with Allura.

She was still Lotor.

He suppressed a self-deprecating laugh, running his thin fingers through long hair. "I guess I really am my own worst enemy," he murmured to himself, still rattled by his own voice, the femininity setting him on edge. "Is this my punishment? To relieve my worst moments in different realities?"

A knock sounded on his door, and he instinctively let out a soft, "Come in."

Slowly, the door opened and Allura peaked her head through, chewing on her lip nervously. "Are you okay?" she asked, stepping into the room and closing the door softly behind her. "You fell over, and…" she trailed off, looking at Lotor from under her thick eyelashes.

Lotor's body moved, but not by his own doing. He felt a smile tugging at his lips, and his arms raised up. Allura breathed a sigh of relief and strode up to Lotor, tucking herself into his chest, her arms wrapping around his waist. Despite having a female body, Lotor was still larger than Allura, and the Altean only really reached his chest.

"Don't do that to me again," Allura murmured, squeezing him tighter before pulling back just slightly to look up at Lotor. He was caught breathless by her beauty, the love in her eyes something he never imagined he would be able to see again, and when they kissed, he nearly started crying again.

He hated what he had done to his Allura, what was going to happen to this Allura, and the kiss, both desperate and gentle, sent a wave of remorse through his entire body. He needed to change this—he needed to change Lenora's destiny because if he didn't, she would end up just like him.

Lotor pulled away just slightly, resting their noses together as he caught his breath. "I won't," he whispered, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Everything is alright, Allura. I promise."

…

He couldn't fix it. It seemed that there were very few times that he could actually control Lenora's body and voice, and he wasn't able to change anything.

It was maddening. He wanted nothing more than to confess to Allura, to show her every facet of himself, no matter how dark, but he couldn't. Lenora seemed to think that everything was better off hidden, and Lotor couldn't push through enough to outrightly defy her.

He wanted to scream, but he couldn't even manage that.

So he watched, helpless, as Lenora continued to dig the ditch of her life. As they neared the completion of his ship, Lotor became more restless, but was only able to show it in the occasional tightening of his hand into a fist. It was overwhelming, more mentally agonizing than the Quintessence Field.

"Nora, are you okay?" Allura asked softly, her hand ghosting over Lotor's fist. He instinctively relaxed and allowed her to slip her fingers through his. "You're looking a bit stressed."

Lotor smiled softly, the expression a relief to his formerly tight muscles of his face. "I'm alright. I'm just… we are so close to reaching our goal, Allura. Together, you and I. We will rebuild both of our cultures. Our people…" That wasn't what he wanted to say, but over the past couple of weeks he had accepted that words were not his own to control.

Allura stroked Lotor's knuckles with her thumb. "I know. It's nerve wracking. I never thought I'd get to even hope for something like this to happen."

Lotor looked down at their intertwined hands, her words heavy on his heart. He was so caught up in his own guilt that he barely heard her next words.

"Thank you, Lenora. Thank you for everything."

…

Lenora kept her cool in the Quintessence Field, but Lotor did not. The Quintessence burned, and he mentally begged Lenora to turn them around, to not pierce the veil. He begged for this to be over, yet he was terrified to go back to the Castle of Lions.

He knew Keith would be there with Romelle. Lenora's life as she knew it would be over.

Of course, they were successful in equipping Lenora's ship with the ability to collect Quintessence, and they made it back to the Castle safely. Lotor kissed Allura just as he remembered doing back in his own reality, but he barely processed it. He knew what was coming, and he was terrified. How could he enjoy the kiss when those same warm lips against his would twist in disgust in just a few moments?

It was worse the second time. Lenora's emotions perforated his own, and he felt overwhelmed by it all. He barely registered the pleading words that spilled out of his lips, nor the hot tears that stained his cheeks. He just felt the tearing of his heart and the overwhelming fear, cold against his fingers and toes.

When Allura threw him over her shoulder, he blacked out, and he welcomed the darkness—anything was better than the flood of emotions he was currently feeling.

…

When Lotor came too, everything happened in a blur. Lenora was acting out in anger, desperation, and fear, just as Lotor had done in is own reality, and he couldn't keep his own conscience intact. It hurt too much, and it was just easier to let it happen.

He had been struggling for so long, and he didn't want to put himself through this again. Not when there was nothing to be done.

So he simply watched as Lenora denounced Honerva, refusing to accept the witch as her mother, and he watched as his generals re-attached themselves to his side. He watched as Lenora pleaded with Allura.

It was a mix of his tears and Lenora's that streamed down their face as Allura shot at their ship, and Lotor felt the scream that ripped past Lenora's lips as she counterattacked.

When they went into the Quintessence Field, an all too hauntingly familiar memory burning at Lotor's soul, he gave in completely, begging without words for it to all be over.

It felt like hours had passed when Lotor finally let out a scream that broke through the veil between him and Lenora, except it wasn't Lenora's voice that cried out in anguish. It was his own. The pain of the Quintessence Field had distracted him enough so that he hadn't even noticed that he was back in his own reality, in his own body.

"Please. Please. Please," he begged, over and over again, unsure of what he was begging for. The repeated word escaped him like his very breath. His hands gripped the controls of his ship, and he writhed in his seat, his body feeling heavier than it had in weeks.

He didn't know how long he screamed and pleaded, but by the time he had calmed down to mere whimpers, he felt his consciousness slipping again—

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**A/N 2.0: Prompts**

**Hogwarts 365 Challenge - (word) Femininity **

**Hogwarts Insane House Challenge - (dialogue) "Are you okay? What's wrong?"**

**Writing Club:**

**\- Sophie's shelf #2 Katya: (dialogue) "I am my own worst enemy."**


	3. The Promise to Stay Alive

**I'm Alive!**

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**And finally writing for this!**

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**Yay!**

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**Warnings: depression, violence, character death, suicide. The usual.**

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**The Promise to Stay Alive**

It was dark when Lotor gasped himself awake, sweating and panting. His eyes, blown open wide, saw nothing. Absolutely nothing.

He was himself again, or at least it felt like it. Male. Tall with long, muscular limbs. Long hair sprawled and caught beneath him. But that wasn't all he felt.

There was another body, one so incredibly close to his that he almost felt like it was a part of his own. Strong legs were partially entertwined with his own, and sturdy arms were wrapped around his torso. Warm breath spanned across his shoulder and chest.

He couldn't see the man, but he could feel him. He could feel him _everywhere_.

A low voice hummed, the sound rumbling across the otherwise quiet room. "Good dream?"

Lotor couldn't answer—well, not aside from the involuntary chuckle that seemed to originate from his chest.

He half felt himself pull the man closer, but honestly lost all sense of his own actions when he felt the man's palm pressing into him. "A very good dream," the man murmured, fully awake this time, his voice purposefully low.

Unable to help himself, Lotor let out a soft moan and a breathy "Shiro."

An invitation. A plea. Not what Lotor was expecting in the slightest.

…

The morning came, or at least that's what the speakers said, but it was no less dark than when Lotor had woken up before. Shiro was gone, but the spot beside Lotor was still warm.

Slowly, he sat up, trying to make his eyes adjust to the dark. Half of him was struggling to get the night before out of his head, the other half wasn't. It wasn't as if it wasn't good, and he hadn't ever been attracted to Shiro, but he loved Allura. He loved Allura with all of his heart.

Lights flickered on, and Lotor turned to glance at the doorway, filled by Shiro. A slightly taller Shiro than he remembered, one with a new mechanical arm and more battle scars, a towel wrapped around his waist and wet hair slicked back.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Shiro grinned, his smile only widening when Lotor replied.

It seemed like a comfortable routine, the two of them getting ready for the day in tandem, Shiro pausing every so often to press a quick kiss to Lotor's lips. Shiro had to go up on his toes to reach Lotor's lips, but he didn't seem to mind.

And, despite not knowing where he was, or what was happening, Lotor found that his body knew exactly what to do, including certain times in which he leaned down to make Shiro's life easier.

Lotor hated himself for it, but more than once during their morning routine, he found himself forgetting why he didn't want to kiss Shiro.

Before long, they were both dressed in uniform, something like a mix between traditional Altean and Galran armor, a design Lotor vaguely remembered creating. There was no mirror, though, which irritated Lotor to no end. He _cared_ about his appearance, and he was interested to know how this armor fit on him as he had no recollection of wearing it before.

It was strange. The last time he had found himself in an unknown situation, woken up in a different version of his life, Lotor had been granted with his alternate reality's memories. This time, though, he was granted nothing but vague whispers of what his past could have been.

Pain, loss, strong arms. It was jumbled together in a way that made no sense. Just hazy half-visions and feelings.

"Ready to go face them?" Shiro asked. The brightness in his eyes had dulled considerably, but he still smiled, like he was trying to remain excited.

A frown pulled at Lotor's lips. Even in this, his body, his alternate self, had no idea how to respond to Shiro. "Face who?"

Shiro's smile faltered. This was the first time Lotor could ever remember seeing the man uncertain. "Just follow me," Shiro said softly.

He whispered something Lotor barely caught—something that sent ice running through his veins.

"And please stay alive."

…

He was back in the arena.

He had hoped to never step foot in the place again. He had been forced, back in his life, to fight when he was younger. As he had grown older, he fought to prove himself.

Now he was fighting for his life.

As the roars of the crowd washed over him, so did a few brief memories: exile, pain, punishment. He had no choice. He had to fight.

So he did. He fought, and he killed.

And that night, Shiro quietly helped him clean himself up, wiping blood off of his skin. Carefully cleaning his hair. Kissing his forehead. Thanking the human God that Lotor had lived, that they had both lived.

Lotor wasn't sure why Shiro was fighting so hard for this life. After experiencing it, after feeling the pain of half-there memories, he realized he would rather die.

…

Lotor gasped himself awake again, though this time instead of hot air and hurried breaths, like the night before, there were tears and soft whimpers.

Shiro was there, awake in an instant, body pressed to his, lips on his forehead… cheeks… chin… more breathing than actually kissing his skin.

"It's okay, baby," Shiro whispered, fingers carding through Lotor's hair. "It was just a dream. I've got you."

…

The days were all the same—Lotor got lost in the monotonicity of them. He woke up, Shiro greeted him with a soft, "Morning, sleepyhead," they got dressed, Shiro begged Lotor to stay alive, they fought, Shiro cleaned blood off of him, and they went to bed.

Every day, Lotor forgot where he was, or at least part of him did. Every day, he wished he were dead, or even back in the quintessence field.

Sometimes Lotor would ask a question whose answers nearly had Shiro crying. Sometimes, Lotor wouldn't speak at all.

The only thing that he really noticed was that his alternate reality self seemed to be on auto-pilot. That meant that he had a little more control than last time, when he had been Lenora. It was strange, though, because he didn't want control this time. He wanted to fade into the back of his conscience and pray for release.

But he had to step up. Shiro begged him to stay alive, and it was only when he let himself fade into the background that he got hurt in battle. However much he wanted to die, he had to stay.

For Shiro.

It made him a little guilty, living for Shiro and not even trying to find Allura, but the one time he had mentioned Allura's name, Shiro had looked so broken that he quickly changed the subject. Something had happened. Something awful had happened.

…

Lotor lost track of the days, but he must have been in this reality for months before finally figuring out what had happened.

He was in the arena, just like every day. Shiro's quiet plea rang through his head just as the clash of weapons rang through the arena. Cheers for Gladiator, the name Lotor had earned himself, pushed against him from every edge as he fought every other opponent.

Shiro, nicknamed Champion, fought everyone that Lotor didn't.

It was more than halfway through the day when someone came up that Lotor actually recognized. Vaguely. Barely. He wasn't sure if the memory of this person came from his own memories or the memories of the Lotor who belonged to this reality.

Mathew Holt, named Rebel. He had a Galran leg, a Galran eye, and long hair tied up high. His one human eye was sharp and his lips were pressed.

"Lotor," Mathew said as he strode into the center of the arena, doing the customary bow before striking up a fighting position.

Thrown off by a familiar face, Lotor barely returned the bow before his time to accept the fight was up.

He didn't want to. He didn't want to hurt the Green Paladin's brother.

"You have no choice," Mathew said, as if reading Lotor's thoughts. He attacked, though weakly, giving Lotor plenty of time to block. "One of us has to die, and Shiro needs you more than me."

Mathew advanced again, but just as weakly. Lotor didn't counter strike. "Where are the others?" he asked, his voice hoarse, blocking another perfunctory strike.

The laugh that came from Mathew was unnatural—strained and angry. "Dead," he snarled, attacking again, but with little malice. "All of them lost their lives on this damn floor."

Lotor nearly froze, only coming to his senses in time to block a strike, their weapons clashing together. Mathew looked angrier than before, his human eye hardening.

"Lance."

Matt struck hard, gritting the name out.

"Keith."

He struck to Lotor's left.

"Hunk."

His voice cracked.

"Allura."

There were tears on his cheeks.

"Pidge."

He didn't strike again. He dropped his weapons and in the most broken voice cried out, "I surrender!"

"Mathew, no!" Lotor cried, his eyes widening in horror. The Galra didn't take well to those who surrendered. Within seconds Mathew's body had been blown to bits by multiple weapons, gone too fast to even cry out in pain.

That night, Lotor quietly cleaned the blood off himself on his own, and when he crawled into bed with Shiro, he was the one who was whispering soft condolences in the other man's ear.

…

Shiro screamed, thrashing in the bed.

Lotor gently kissed his forehead… cheeks… chin… trying to bring him back to reality.

…

"Lotor," Shiro whispered the next day as they prepared to leave. "Please… Please…"

Lotor smiled sadly, gently pulling the shorter man close, kissing his lips gently. "Shiro," he breathed in response, his voice as insistent as he could make it. "Please stay alive."

…

Lotor washed the blood off himself on his own.

…

He woke up screaming. There were no warm lips. No gentle words.

He cried himself back to sleep, lost in a haze of pain, loss, and a cold bed.

…

There were no promises to stay alive that next morning.

…

When Lotor stepped into the arena, he was up against Thrasher, the creature who had beaten Champion. He killed the thing out of spite.

His next opponent was an old general of his, Axca. He gave her a soft smile before lifting his hands up and shouting, "I surrender!"

…

There was no blissful release. Just pain—the searing burn of quintessence.


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